The boat looked like a whicker armadillo. But it was our own boat. With servants. For two days. Pottering up and down a genteel river in a piece of giant garden furniture, past rice fields, palm trees, and strange little villages,We did nothing, very steadily.
We’d sail past rice fields, where peasants were happily gathering in rice, and then suddenly squat and poo in the field before moving on. It makes a certain agrarian sense, but it’s still a facer when your cook brings you a plate of steaming rice an hour later and says, “We brought it from that field we passed this morning.”
Every now and then, our boat would stop at some strange land mark. Either an electricity sub station, or a water tower. I realised that these were probably sites of great local pride. Or just near the shops.
I’m uneasy about having servants. On the plus side, it’s three new people in my life to constantly apologise to.
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